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<title>Chapter 19</title>
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<h2>19</h2>
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<p>Jack reached for the notebook under the pile of coins and keys
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on the table beside the bed. He flipped the pages until he found a
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clear one, still concentrating on the dream, holding it together
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before it broke up. He flicked the top off the pen, ignored it when
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it bounced on the table and rolled to the floor, and wrote quickly.
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When he had finished, he picked up the report from Robbie Cattanach
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on the drowned woman and scanned the lines until he found what he
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was looking for. One of her shoes had been missing when she was
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fished from the river.</p>
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<p>He'd scanned the sentence just before he'd fallen asleep and had
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seen no significance there. Dead people in rivers were often
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missing shoes and boots. The current of the river sucked them
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away.</p>
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<p>But in the dreamscape, the fact of the missing shoe had gained
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importance. He did not know what that importance was, but a piece
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of a complicated jigsaw had, as if by magic, fitted into another
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part. Now he knew where to look, though he wasn't sure exactly
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why.</p>
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<p>Jack clambered out of bed, now completely awake. He shrugged
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into his old dressing gown and tied the cord tight around his
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waist. In the kitchen, he stabbed the switch on the coffee maker
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and sat down, his mind a tumult of half-asked questions,
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half-answered responses.</p>
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<p>The girl. Lorna Breck.</p>
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<p>"<em>He heard the woman</em>," she'd said."<em>There was a woman
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there. She was in the shadows. I couldn't see her properly, not her
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face. Her leg was sticking out, and she had lost one of her shoes.
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Her bag was lying on the stairs.</em> "</p>
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<p>The words came back to him with surprising clarity. The girl had
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scrutinized him with her glistening grey eyes, staring intently
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into his own. There had been something more than odd about her.</p>
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<p>Despite the fact that Jack had seen her collapse in hysterics on
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River Street, and the implausible tale she'd told about seeing the
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attacks on the children, she was still a conundrum. He remembered
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thinking of her as a loony. Yet there was something he realised
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only now that he'd missed.</p>
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<p>In all the years he'd been a policeman, he'd seen hundreds,
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maybe thousands of cranks and crazy folk. Eventually, the trained
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eye was able to spot them. An odd walk, a twitch in the eye,
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something that set them aside from normal people.</p>
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<p>Lorna Breck had looked worried and she'd looked sick, and the
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tale she'd told was preposterous.</p>
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<p>But there was strangely <em>reasonable</em> quality to her.</p>
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<p>And yet she'd said something which sparked off a train of
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thought in Jack's mind when he'd dozed, and come up with a picture
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that might be truly significant.</p>
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<p><em>The warehouse</em>. Jack recalled the sergeant on the dog
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team outlining the area they'd searched. The snow had made it
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difficult for the alsatians. They hadn't found a trail to follow.
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The hunt had spread wider, but the police only examined those empty
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buildings which had been open, or had an obvious entry. And they
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had been looking for a boy, nothing else.</p>
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<p>Jack waited until the red light on the coffee-maker went out,
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sifting few connected facts he had, weaving the scant threads
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together. He poured a cup, spooned three heaps of demerara into
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the brew and started to sip. It tasted wonderful, strong and thick,
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and in addition, the pain in his throat had subsided
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significantly.</p>
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<p>He turned in his chair and reached for the phone, when it rang
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loudly. That, he thought, was happening too often. He picked it up,
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brusquely gave his surname, and a woman's voice said hello in a
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voice that was more a question than a greeting.</p>
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<p>"Jack Fallon," he said, unable to place the voice.</p>
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<p>"It's me. Lorna Breck. We spoke today."</p>
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<p>For a second Jack was completely wrong-footed. He'd just been
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thinking about the girl, had decided he'd have to speak to her
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again, when she'd called him.</p>
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<p>"Yes. We did," he said, non-commitally.</p>
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<p>"I had to call," she said. Her voice sounded different on the
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phone, but despite the distortion, he could hear the tightness of
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distress.</p>
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<p>"It's going to happen again. Or it <em>has</em> happened, and I
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don't know what to do."</p>
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<p>"Hold on. back up. Start from the beginning," Jack said almost
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gruffly.</p>
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<p>"I saw it Mr Fallon. I saw it again. Tonight."</p>
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<p>"Saw it again?" he repeated.</p>
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<p>"It was killing somebody. A girl."</p>
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<p>"Where?"</p>
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<p>"I don't know. In a room. In a tunnel. Something like that. The
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girl was screaming. Oh.."</p>
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<p>Her voice broke off abruptly.</p>
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<p>"Now wait a minute," Jack said, gently as he could. "Calm down a
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little and just tell me."</p>
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<p>There was a snuffling on the line. It sounded as if she was
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blowing her nose. When she started talking again her voice was
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cracked with strain.</p>
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<p>"I wasn't asleep. It just came to me. It was in the dark. There
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was a lot of noise. Like drums, clanging sounds. The girl was
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screaming and it came down on the ropes and opened up the roof. She
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was terrified. I could <em>feel</em> it. And then it reached down
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and took her."</p>
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<p>"And you saw this?"</p>
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<p>"Yes," she said. She sniffled again, catching her breath.</p>
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<p>"And then what?"</p>
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<p>"I don't know. It lifted her up and she was crying all the time.
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It was just like the boy. It carried her up into the dark
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and..and.."</p>
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<p>"And what?" he asked again.</p>
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<p>"And she'd dead."</p>
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<p>The words came out with heavy finality.</p>
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<p>"You don't know where?"</p>
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<p>"No."</p>
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<p>"Or when?"</p>
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<p>"No."</p>
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<p>Jack sighed. He'd been right a few minutes ago. There was
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something more than odd about the girl. He didn't know whether to
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be suspicious, or dismissive. He had other things on his mind, but
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he was already on the horns of his dilemma. The girl had told him
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something earlier which he'd discounted and then a possible answer
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to part of it had come when he'd fallen asleep. He had to check
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that out before he did anything else.</p>
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<p>"Listen," he finally said. "There's not much I can do about it
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at this time of night. But I'll speak to you first thing in the
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morning. Are you going to work?"</p>
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<p>She said she'd been told to stay at home.</p>
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<p>"Fine. I'll take your number," Jack said. She gave it, and he
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said he'd call in the morning. There was a silence on the other end
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which went on for several seconds, when finally she said.</p>
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<p>"Please. I can't take much more of this."</p>
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<p>The telephone couldn't disguise the plaintive, almost despairing
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appeal in her voice.</p>
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<p>"Leave it to me," Jack said blandly.</p>
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<p>He slung the receiver and let it hang on the phone for a minute
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or two while he considered what she'd said. Another killing, but
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she didn't know where or when. That was a big help. It was no help
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at all. First he had to investigate the warehouse.</p>
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<p>The phone rang again and he snatched it from the cradle,
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expecting to hear her voice again.</p>
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<p>"Mr Fallon?" A man's voice this time.</p>
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<p>"Sergeant Thomson here."</p>
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<p>"Hello Bobby," Jack responded. "What's up?"</p>
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<p>"We need you down here. There's been another one."</p>
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<p>The words landed like thuds on Jack's consciousness. He didn't
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even have to ask, though for a vertiginous moment he experienced a
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strange rush of unnerving trepidation, as if he'd stepped out of
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reality for a moment and was floundering in a place where
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everything was out of true and out of step.</p>
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<p>"Where?" he finally asked.</p>
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<p>"The distillery," Bobby responded matter of factly. "We got a
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call half an hour ago, A girl's just gone missing."</p>
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<p>The weird <em>deja-vu</em> sensation washed through him
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again.</p>
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<p>"What happened?"</p>
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<p>"Christ knows," Bobby said. "Sorry sir."</p>
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<p>"Don't worry Bobby, just tell me."</p>
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<p>"She was in a lift. It got stuck between floors. When the
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engineer went in, she was gone. But there's blood all over the
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place. There's a few of the women taken to hospital."</p>
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<p>"Were they hurt?"</p>
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<p>"No. They fainted."</p>
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<p>"Right," Jack said. "I'll be down in ten minutes." He was about
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to hang up again when he told Bobby to hold on.</p>
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<p>"Listen. While I'm here. Get Ralph Slater and John McColl in and
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then get a couple of men round to the old railhead warehouse on
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Artizan Street. The one next to the engine works. I want the whole
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place searched."</p>
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<p>"What are we looking for, sir?"</p>
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<p>"Anything at all. Possible evidence of the Kennedy boy. I need
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it done now."</p>
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<p>He hung up this time and sat staring at the wall, feeling numb
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and disorientated. The second call, right on the back of the first
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had thrown him off balance, leaving him with a weird sense of
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helplessness and scary confusion.</p>
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<p>After a moment, he got up from the table and ran his cup under
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the tap, then bent and scooped cold water on to his face. The icy
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shock helped slow down his jumbled thoughts. It took him a few
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minutes to get dressed. He hadn't had time for a shower and as he
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ran his hand across his chin, he knew he was in dire need of a
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shave, but there was no time for it. He hauled his coat on, flicked
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his hair back from his forehead with an abrupt sweep of his hand,
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and went out into the cold night.</p>
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<p>Ralph Slater was just arriving at the main gate of the
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distillery when Jack pulled up. A crowd of women stood at the door,
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huddled against the cold, with their heavy winter coats slung on
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top of their overalls. An ambulance light was winking in the
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covered area where the lorries normally loaded their goods. A
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patrol car was parked beside it, and just beyond, the bulk of a
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fire engine loomed against the brick wall. Already the mist coming
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off the river was thick and opaque, giving the buildings a
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dreamscape fuzzy quality.</p>
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<p>"What's the word Jack?" somebody called from the corner. Blair
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Bryden started walking towards the car.</p>
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<p>"Haven't a clue yet," Jack told him. "Give me a chance."</p>
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<p>"Her name's Carol Howard and she's sixteen. She went into a lift
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and never came out again."</p>
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<p>"Well, you know more than me."</p>
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<p>"My aunt works with her," Blair said. "She gave me a call."</p>
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<p>"Well, I'll have a word with her later. Give me some time to see
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what's happening and I'll have a chat when I come down." Blair
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nodded. He was a conscientious editor.</p>
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<p>Inside, Jack and Ralph took the stairs two at a time until they
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got to the fourth floor. The place was crowded with firemen. The
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elevator doors had been wedged open. Ropes trailed out through the
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space, disappearing up through the hole in the roof. Smears of
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blood had been trampled over the floor, leaving red treadmarks
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inside and out of the cabin.</p>
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<p>One of the policemen came over as soon as Jack arrived.</p>
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<p>"Nobody knows what happened yet," he said. "Apparently she went
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down to the canteen, two floors below to get her handbag. This was
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about an hour ago, just after the tea-break. One of the storemen,"
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the constable flipped a page on his notebook, "Peter Cullen. He
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said he heard a noise coming from the lift. The girl was calling
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for help. She seemed to be stuck in the jammed lift. A few minutes
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later, there was a great deal of noise inside the lift and the girl
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started screaming. There was nothing else until the engineer got
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the thing open. The girl was not inside."</p>
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<p>He closed his notebook.</p>
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<p>"I'm afraid they haven't located her yet."</p>
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<p>Sorley Fitzpatrick, the chief fire officer came bulling across,
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stepping over the lines of ropes.</p>
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<p>"We've been right up to the top of the shaft. There's an
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air-vent on the housing which the boys say has been forced open. No
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sign of anything, Jack. If that girl was in the lift, then she's
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gone."</p>
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<p>"Have you checked down below?"</p>
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<p>"Nothing there. Up above the cage there's a lot of blood. Smells
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like a slaughterhouse in there. I wouldn't recommend a visit."</p>
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<p>"Neither me, I suppose, but I'll have to take a look."</p>
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<p>He went across to the lift with Sorley and followed the man up
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the ladder set at an angle, reaching up into the space above.
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Somebody had rigged up a series of lights which clung to the rails
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on rat-trap crocodile clips. The lift rattled under their feet as
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Sorley pointed upwards. The shaft soared into the distance, getting
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narrower in distant perspective. Two firemen were lowering
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themselves down on the ropes. Ralph Slater eased his way through
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the gap to stand beside them, aiming his own flashlight here and
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there on the shaft walls.</p>
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<p>"Christ, what a mess," he finally said, then, without another
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word, he started scooping samples into the plastic wallets he took
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from his bag.</p>
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<p>"There's more traces of blood, or what seems to be blood,
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further up on the guide-rail. Nothing on the roof, as far as I can
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tell, but I expect you'll want a look yourself."</p>
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<p>"Yes," Jack agreed gloomily, knowing he would have to inspect
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the whole area. The idea of going up the shaft appalled him. He
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clambered down and into the building again. By this time, John
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McColl had arrived, looking a bit bleary eyed, but clean shaven.
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With him were two young detective constables. Jack asked the
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manager for a room and was shown to a tidy office. Inside, he
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started laying out instructions for the rest of the team.</p>
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<p>An hour later, he found himself on top of the building, bracing
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himself against the cold west wind, as he had done on the top of
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Lomond View after the strange death of Jock Toner. The parallel was
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not lost on him. As he stood in the centre of the flat expanse of
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roughcast he experienced another flashback.</p>
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<p><em>"He's dead</em>." the girl had said. "<em>It came down from
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above in the dark and just lifted him up. I could hear it
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breathing. It's like an</em> animal."</p>
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<p>Like an animal. Whoever had taken the girl from the lift,
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leaving her blood to drip in a clotted pool had to be an animal. A
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maniac. A psychopath.</p>
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<p>"<em>I don't know</em> what <em>it is. You can't see it
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properly. It moves so fast, and it climbs.</em> "</p>
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<p>It climbs. It <em>climbs</em>.</p>
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<p>There was no doubt about that. He climbed alright. Nearly to the
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top of Latta Court. And to the roof of Loch View, two of the
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highest buildings in the town. Now Jack was standing on the flat
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roof of the distillery, a towering block which overlooked the whole
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of the centre of Levenford. He turned to face south and could see
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right across the river, beyond the old cemetery on its promontory
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at the confluence of river and estuary. Across the firth, nearly
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eight miles away as the crow flies, the tiny lights of the south
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bank towns glittered in the fog like distant stars.</p>
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<p>High places. Jack recalled his own words. The pattern had struck
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him before. There had been nothing but frozen blood on the ground
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on Barley Cobble where the battered body of Shona Campbell had been
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found, yet on a hunch Jack had ordered a search of the roof and
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they'd found traces of thread. Of a sudden he was certain they
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would match the fibres taken that day from the baby's cot.</p>
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<p><em>High places.</em> Why?</p>
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<p>He did not have the answer to that question, but now he was just
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as certain he was getting there, slowly and surely, and for some
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reason, a weird shiver ran through him. He did not know what he
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would find when he got to the end of the line, to the end of the
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questions. For a strange, almost panicky second, Jack Fallon did
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not want to get there.</p>
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<p>He turned back from the south, sweeping his eyes across the
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town's night horizon. From where he stood, his view to the ground
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was restricted by the safety wall that lined the edge of the
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building, more than three feet high. Almost directly to the north,
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the ornate roof of the town hall, corbie-step gables and dragon's
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back ridging, nosed up behind the stand of elms on Memorial Avenue.
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Off to the right, the cranes and gantries of Latta Marineyard stood
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gaunt and prehistoric, ribbed and articulated. Someone had left a
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light on in the cabin of the giant lifting derrick. It glowed like
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a monster's eye. Beyond them, the black, towering sheds of the old
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shipyard with its own gaunt cranes, a conglomeration of metal,
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great slipway doors and winching gear, lying dormant until the need
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for boats came back again.</p>
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<p>Then, just north of them, hardly visible, pointed the steeple of
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Castlebank Church, where William Simpson had preached to a
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congregation while hiding a dark and disgusting secret.</p>
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<p>Swinging his gaze back, Jack followed the sightline. The tall
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poplars, mere shadows in the mist, along Slaughterhouse Road. The
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tower of the crumbling provost's hall, built two hundred years
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before by the ship-owning power barons who had ruled the town with
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god-fearing strictness backed by the oppression of vast wealth. To
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the far left, the dreary concrete blocks of Latta Court and its two
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neighbours huddled together, the winking red hazard light on the
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highest roof like an ember in a bed of coals. To the north west,
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the black twin stacks of the old forge chimneys, rearing like gun
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barrels aiming at the sky, barely visible in the gloom. Out in the
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dark, the bells of St Rowan's Church plaintively tolled the
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hour.</p>
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<p><em>High places.</em></p>
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<p>Places above the sightlines, only truly seen from another high
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place.</p>
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<p>"<em>It climbs</em>," she had said. He could hear her voice,
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tight with distress.</p>
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<p>"It climbs alright," he said aloud. The wind whipped his words
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away beyond the safety barrier.</p>
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<p><em>But how did she know?</em> Jack had dismissed the visions,
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or dreams, or whatever she cared to call them. He didn't believe in
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mumbo-jumbo. That was for cranks and crazies and loonies, and thank
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christ the majority of them were harmless. Despite what Andy Toye
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had said, that kind of thing was strictly out of the picture as far
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as police business was concerned. Facts, facts and more facts, they
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were what counted.</p>
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<p>Yet what she had said nagged and tugged at him.</p>
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<p><em>What did she know?</em> That was more to the point. As he
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stood in the cold, he cast his mind back. She'd told him he'd seen
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someone - though she called it some<em>thing</em> - come down from
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above and smash Shona Campbell to the ground. Now they'd found the
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fibres snagged on the guttering.</p>
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<p>She'd told him the boy was dead. There had been nothing in the
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papers about that, just that he was missing.</p>
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<p>And tonight she had phoned him, in a blind panic, or so it
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sounded, to tell him that a girl had been killed.</p>
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<p>She'd been right about that. There was no doubt in Jack's mind;
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no doubt in the minds of the firemen or the women who had stood
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outside the lift while the booming noises had echoed down the shaft
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and the screams had reverberated from above. The girl was dead.</p>
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<p><em>So how did she know? And what did she know?</em></p>
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<p>Jack turned and walked slowly back to the stairway which led
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back into the building. For some reason his feet had wanted to
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carry him to the edge of the roof, and he'd had to fight against
|
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the urge to look down. It was an odd compulsion and he'd felt it
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before, but he knew if he stood on the edge, he'd feel the tug of
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gravity, the insistent drag of the ground and its implicit
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invitation. The elevator housing, a squat, square construction, one
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of four which grew from the roof, was just beside the stairway. At
|
|
its nearest side, the thick aluminium grid lay buckled and twisted.
|
|
Jack hunkered down to have another look at it. Ralph Slater's boys
|
|
had already taken pictures from all angles and it had been dusted
|
|
for prints. Nonetheless, Jack lifted it carefully using his finger
|
|
and thumb on a corner. It wasn't heavy. The thick mesh had been
|
|
ripped and torn. He placed it against the hole where it had stood,
|
|
and something peculiar caught his attention. The grille had been
|
|
pushed <em>inward</em>, not forced out. He could see where it had
|
|
bellied from the frame as if a considerable weight had been forced
|
|
against it. The gridwork had snapped in several places. He took it
|
|
out of the frame and held it up close to his face, peering at the
|
|
broken ends of thick wire latticework. The edges were rough. They
|
|
hadn't been cut. Furthermore, they were out of true, bent in
|
|
towards each other as if they had been gripped by a powerful hand.
|
|
He held his own hand up, but despite his own size, his fingers
|
|
could not reach the span that would have been required to grasp the
|
|
twisted pieces of metal.</p>
|
|
<p>He laid the grille down where it had been lying, and
|
|
thoughtfully got to his feet. Somebody called his name from down
|
|
below and he walked slowly to the stairs and back into the main
|
|
party of the distillery.</p>
|
|
<p>"Absolutely nothing," John McColl said. "They're all saying the
|
|
same thing. Plenty of noise and screams, then nothing. Scared the
|
|
hell out of them."</p>
|
|
<p>"Scares the hell out of me," Jack admitted.</p>
|
|
<p>"Oh, by the way," John interjected. "There's been half a dozen
|
|
calls for you. Everybody and their granny wants you to call
|
|
back."</p>
|
|
<p>"At this time of night?"</p>
|
|
<p>"Bobby Thomson wants you urgently."</p>
|
|
<p>As soon as he heard that, Jack felt the familiar jolt as
|
|
adrenalin kicked into his blood.</p>
|
|
<p>"What's he want?"</p>
|
|
<p>"You to call back. Yesterday."</p>
|
|
<p>Jack took the steps three at a time. Nobody was using any of the
|
|
lifts in the building. Sorley Fitzpatrick and the engineers were
|
|
checking the other three, just in case. The distillery manager had
|
|
sent the whole night-shift home. Jack got to his car. Somebody had
|
|
left a message tucked under the wiper. He snatched it out as he
|
|
opened the door and eased himself in. It bore five digits. Jack
|
|
recognised Blair Bryden's number and gave a wry grin. He made a
|
|
mental note to call the Gazette office in the morning, then reached
|
|
for the receiver and called in. Somebody put him through the desk
|
|
sergeant and Bobby Thomson came on, his voice fighting through the
|
|
static.</p>
|
|
<p>"The dog men are in, sir. I thought you ought to know."</p>
|
|
<p>"And?"</p>
|
|
<p>"They found traces. A shoe. No <em>two</em> shoes. A handbag.
|
|
And there's possible traces of dried blood."</p>
|
|
<p>"Shit," Jack said vehemently.</p>
|
|
<p>"Sir?" Bobby's voice crackled. He'd heard that alright.</p>
|
|
<p>"Sorry Bob. Expletive deleted." Jack's mind was racing. There
|
|
were too many options on what to do next. He closed his eyes and
|
|
concentrated for a minute, ignoring the hiss of static in his
|
|
ear.</p>
|
|
<p>"I'll get Ralph along soon as I can. In the meantime, seal the
|
|
area. Not a thing to be touched. No announcement."</p>
|
|
<p>"Oh and Mr Cowie's looking for you," Bobby came back.</p>
|
|
<p>"What's new?" Jack said to himself. Bobby chuckled and Jack
|
|
realised he'd spoken aloud.</p>
|
|
<p>"Tell him I'll be along in twenty minutes." Bobby acknowledged
|
|
and Jack thumbed the off button. He debated sending the women
|
|
patrollers up to Clydeshore Avenue to pick up Lorna Breck and bring
|
|
her to the office, but then he dismissed the notion. He knew where
|
|
she was. If he brought her in to the station, the superintendent
|
|
would only ask awkward questions for which Jack, at the moment had
|
|
no answers. He got out of the car and back into the distillery. The
|
|
crowds had dispersed in the cold, damp air. The ambulance light
|
|
still twinkled blue starlight. There was an odd air of stillness
|
|
about the place.</p>
|
|
<p>Jack got Ralph and hauled him down from the upper floors.</p>
|
|
<p>"We need another scene of crime operation," he explained without
|
|
any preamble.</p>
|
|
<p>"What, again?"</p>
|
|
<p>"Not a fresh scene. At least I don't think so."</p>
|
|
<p>He gave Ralph directions, told him he'd meet him at the old
|
|
warehouse in under an hour, then went back to the car and pulled
|
|
out of the covered driveway and went back to the station.</p>
|
|
<p>At the desk, Bobby Thomson handed him a sheaf of messages which
|
|
he snatched in passing and read as he strode along to his own
|
|
office, pausing only to waylay young Gordon Pirie, the fresh-faced
|
|
recruit and ask him to make a cup of tea. The boy looked over at
|
|
Bobby Thomson who just nodded wisely.</p>
|
|
<p>There were two messages from headquarters, one from Criminal
|
|
Records Office, the other from the forensic lab. He called CRO
|
|
first, asked for an inspector he knew from the old days, and waited
|
|
while the extension rang. Finally somebody picked it up. Jack gave
|
|
his name and the inspector said hello.</p>
|
|
<p>"What've you got Fergus?"</p>
|
|
<p>"Bingo on two counts. John McColl said this was a priority job.
|
|
You've come up on both sets of prints. Tomlin was at scene of crime
|
|
in the Herkik operation. We've twenty clear fingers and several
|
|
palms, all with nine-point matching. It was him alright."</p>
|
|
<p>"And?"</p>
|
|
<p>"The drownee. She was there too. We've got confirmation on all
|
|
points. Nothing on the register on either of them, though, no
|
|
previous. Unknown to the police on any list. If you can get me an
|
|
ID on the woman, it will help."</p>
|
|
<p>"I don't think that'll be long," Jack said confidently. "You'll
|
|
get it as soon as I know it."</p>
|
|
<p>"Okay. Best of luck," the inspector said. "By the way. What the
|
|
hell's going on in your patch?"</p>
|
|
<p>"Damned if I know," Jack wearily. A sudden wave of tiredness
|
|
swept through him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a
|
|
full night's sleep. He ran his hand over his chin again and felt
|
|
the rasp of an extra day's growth. "But I'm working on it."</p>
|
|
<p>"Your old pals are rooting for you."</p>
|
|
<p>"And I'm rooting about down here," Jack said. He thanked his
|
|
fellow officer and went back to the messages.</p>
|
|
<p>At the lab, the sergeant who had left the message was off duty,
|
|
but Jack was put straight through to the textiles and fabrics
|
|
section. The young woman who answered was unfamiliar, but helpful.
|
|
The threads of material snagged on the gutter on the roof at Barley
|
|
Cobble, she confirmed, had been successfully matched up with fibres
|
|
taken from the sheets of baby Kelly Campbell's cot, and
|
|
corresponded to others taken from the shoulder of her mother's
|
|
coat. They were pure wool, dyed pink. The young chemist went into
|
|
some detail about the composition of the dye and the cross-section
|
|
thickness of the fibres, and Jack let her run on for a while,
|
|
though he didn't need the technical information right at that
|
|
moment.</p>
|
|
<p>It did confirm again however, the conclusion Jack had reached
|
|
earlier.</p>
|
|
<p>The killer was a climber. He liked high places.</p>
|
|
<p>Now he had a few other things to do. He had to find out why, and
|
|
he needed to know how Lorna Breck knew. Did she know him? Was she
|
|
involved?</p>
|
|
<p>Was her story just an act to put him off the trail, or even a
|
|
callous act of mishief-making? He decided she could wait, though
|
|
not for much longer. The baby-faced recruit came in with a pot of
|
|
tea and placed the tray on the table. Jack gave him an appreciative
|
|
wink and the youngster blushed. As soon as he left, Jack dunked two
|
|
of the biscuits until they were soft and swallowed them whole. He
|
|
had just stuffed a third into his mouth when there was a knock on
|
|
the door. Before he could speak the door opened and his immediate
|
|
superior strode in. Jack swallowed too hastily and burned his
|
|
throat.</p>
|
|
<p>"Didn't you get my message?" Superintendent Cowie asked.</p>
|
|
<p>"Yes. I was a bit tied up. I just had a couple of calls to
|
|
make."</p>
|
|
<p>"What's going on?"</p>
|
|
<p>"Another youngster. Seems to have been snatched."</p>
|
|
<p>"Yes I know all that, although I should have heard it from
|
|
you."</p>
|
|
<p>"No time. I went straight there."</p>
|
|
<p>"Alright. But there's more. I didn't authorise extra men for
|
|
another search. There's been three dog handlers brought back on
|
|
duty. That's on top of the SOC's men. Can you enlighten me?"</p>
|
|
<p>"Well, acting on information received, I thought it best to
|
|
enlarge the search area."</p>
|
|
<p>"What information. From whom?"</p>
|
|
<p>"It's a bit vague at the moment sir. I'd rather leave it until
|
|
we have something more concrete. In fact it's more of a hunch
|
|
really."</p>
|
|
<p>"A hunch? We can't afford overtime on the strength of some vague
|
|
intuition."</p>
|
|
<p>"No. It was a bit more than that. But you did say you wanted
|
|
immediate action, and that's what I'm trying for. I don't think
|
|
headquarters will object to a couple of extra men on a night. It
|
|
happens all the time in Glasgow."</p>
|
|
<p>"That may be. But this is not Glasgow. We don't have the budget
|
|
or the manpower."</p>
|
|
<p>"We could put in a request some more. I'm sure the divisional
|
|
commander would look on it favourably."</p>
|
|
<p>Jack knew what the reaction to that would be. Cowie would rather
|
|
cut off his leg than put in such a request to head office. It would
|
|
be an admission that he couldn't run his own patch. Jack himself
|
|
knew there would be no shame on it. He'd been working on murders
|
|
too long to care about who thought what. From his own point of
|
|
view, he knew there was nothing to be gained from calling in the
|
|
cavalry, at least not at the moment, despite the media pressure
|
|
which featured the bizarre kidnappings on almost every teatime
|
|
bulletin, and were certain to have a picnic and barbecue in the
|
|
morning when news of the latest abduction hit the streets. There
|
|
was nothing to be gained, and a possibility that an influx of
|
|
officers who did not know the area might only muddy the waters.
|
|
Jack needed just a little more time before he yelled for help, but
|
|
he was pragmatist enough to know that when the time came, he would
|
|
bawl his head off.</p>
|
|
<p>"Absolutely not," Cowie said. "The whole force is overworked and
|
|
undermanned. We won't get any thanks for it."</p>
|
|
<p><em>Nor the glory</em>, Jack thought.</p>
|
|
<p>"So what do we know about the girl?"</p>
|
|
<p>"Nothing much. Bare details. I've sent a WPC round with John
|
|
McColl to speak to the family."</p>
|
|
<p>"Preposterous!" Cowie spat. His face was taking on that familiar
|
|
red tinge. He looked like a man who wanted to be running things but
|
|
didn't quite know how, which, in Jack's view, he was.</p>
|
|
<p>"You mean we think we shouldn't speak to her?"</p>
|
|
<p>"Not that. Of course we should. I want detailed statements from
|
|
every one involved. And I want duplicates of all reports."</p>
|
|
<p>"Naturally," Jack said, lying with a straight face.</p>
|
|
<p>"No. It's preposterous that girl should be snatched like that in
|
|
a building full of people. Whoever is doing this is thumbing his
|
|
nose right at us. The press will have a field day."</p>
|
|
<p>"Probably. But at least you can tell them there are one or two
|
|
developments."</p>
|
|
<p>"I hope there are," Cowie retorted. "I sincerely hope there
|
|
are." He turned away from Jack and walked briskly to the door.</p>
|
|
<p>"Full reports, understand?" he barked, without turning
|
|
round.</p>
|
|
<p>Despite himself, Jack grinned. He poured another cup of tea and
|
|
drank it quickly. He wasn't sure when he'd manage to get another,
|
|
for he felt a long night coming on.</p>
|
|
<p>It was almost two in the morning and he was now feeling utterly
|
|
fatigued when he went down to the operations room and put out a
|
|
call for Ralph Slater. When he came on the phone, he sounded just
|
|
as weary.</p>
|
|
<p>"Just coming in," Ralph said. "No body, but plenty of
|
|
circumstantial. Oh, I think I can ID the swimmer for you."</p>
|
|
<p>"Bring it all in," Jack said. "I'll be here."</p>
|
|
<p>Ralph took less than ten minutes to get round to the station. He
|
|
looked blue and cold and his shoes and trousers were streaked with
|
|
dust. Two of his team were carrying black plastic bags. The scene
|
|
of crimes boss told them to lay the material on the table and he
|
|
gratefully nodded when Jack offered him a cup of tea from the huge
|
|
pot the new recruit had brought up from the canteen. The small
|
|
gathering stood around, trying to get some heat into their
|
|
bodies.</p>
|
|
<p>When the other two had left, Jack and Ralph went over what
|
|
they'd found.</p>
|
|
<p>It was a pitiful collection. Two shoes. One a woman's, the other
|
|
a child's training shoe.</p>
|
|
<p>Jack got a fleeting flashback to the dream.The prints had been
|
|
clear. One bare foot and the clear marks of gumboots. It hadn't
|
|
been accurate, but that hardly mattered any more.</p>
|
|
<p>"Definitely the boy's. We got a full description. It matches,"
|
|
Ralph said over the rim of his cup. The other one's from the woman
|
|
in the river. I can guarantee it. I could get the effects from
|
|
downstairs, or even show you a print, but take my word for it."</p>
|
|
<p>"Naturally," Jack agreed. "You're scene of crimes."</p>
|
|
<p>"Now the handbag is more interesting," Ralph went on, now
|
|
speaking through a mouthful of biscuit. "We found that on the
|
|
stairs. Some blood drops on it. Much more on the upper levels and a
|
|
fair puddle on the rafter boards, and I'll give ten to one it's the
|
|
Kennedy kid."</p>
|
|
<p>"No bets."</p>
|
|
<p>The contents of the bag were in a separate wallet. There was a
|
|
small purse with a few notes and change, a pen. Two combs and a
|
|
lipstick.</p>
|
|
<p>Jack poked through it with a pencil.</p>
|
|
<p>"What's this?" he asked, looking over at Ralph. The two cards
|
|
were face up, printed in fading pastel colours. The six of wands
|
|
and the queen of wands, both of them old-fashioned, printed on
|
|
linen board.</p>
|
|
<p>"I thought you'd find that interesting. They're the same kind as
|
|
we found on Simpson. I think there's a tie-in."</p>
|
|
<p>"Oh there is. She was at Cairn House. Records have confirmed the
|
|
prints."</p>
|
|
<p>"But there's more."</p>
|
|
<p>Jack raised an eyebrow. Ralph indicated the small pile of
|
|
effects.</p>
|
|
<p>Jack nudged the cards out of the way, then he saw what Ralph had
|
|
meant. It was a lapel clip, with a name on it beside a photograph
|
|
of a woman with short greying hair.</p>
|
|
<p>"It can't be," he said through his teeth.</p>
|
|
<p>"But it is. She was covered in shit when they took her out of
|
|
the river. Her own mother wouldn't have recognised her, but I'll
|
|
take any bets that's who it is."</p>
|
|
<p>"Janet?"</p>
|
|
<p>Ralph nodded. "And Christ alone knows how she figures in all of
|
|
this. She would never say boo to a goose."</p>
|
|
<p>Jack scratched his head, perplexed. Janet Robinson had been one
|
|
of the girls in the typing office. She was as quiet as a mouse, a
|
|
young-old woman who kept herself to herself, but she was an
|
|
excellent worker. She'd churned out dozens of reports for Jack in
|
|
the past couple of months.</p>
|
|
<p>"That's all we need," he said to Ralph, dropping the plastic
|
|
card back into the pile.</p>
|
|
<p>He went back to the seat and eased himself down. "Right. John
|
|
McColl's out talking to Tomlin's wife after he speaks to the girl's
|
|
mother," he said. "We might get something there, though I doubt it.
|
|
I need somebody out to Cross Road to pick up a man."</p>
|
|
<p>"Tonight?"</p>
|
|
<p>"Yes, Tonight. I'll send two of the uniforms along. And there's
|
|
a girl I have to speak to."</p>
|
|
<p>"You and me both."</p>
|
|
<p>"No this one's got something to tell me. Ever heard of Lorna
|
|
Breck?"</p>
|
|
<p>Ralph shook his head. "Rings no bell."</p>
|
|
<p>"She tells me she's been seeing the killings. Called me tonight
|
|
just before Bobby Thomson phoned. She said it had happened again,
|
|
to a girl this time."</p>
|
|
<p>"Think she's involved?"</p>
|
|
<p>"I don't know. There's something weird about her. Under normal
|
|
circumstances I'd say she was telling the truth, but I've been
|
|
wrong before. I'll have another talk with her in the morning, but
|
|
keep that to yourself. I'll have enough trouble explaining what was
|
|
going on at Cairn House."</p>
|
|
<p>"Having a seance, wasn't it?"</p>
|
|
<p>"Trying to raise devils," Jack said.</p>
|
|
<p>Ralph gave him a nakedly skeptical look.</p>
|
|
<p>"You don't believe any of that crap, do you?"</p>
|
|
<p>"No, but they probably did. I think we're dealing with a bunch
|
|
of weirdos. Some sort of sect, maybe devil worshippers or
|
|
something. You've read the Orkney case, and the Yorkshire stuff. I
|
|
think we might have a group of nutters who're taking it one step
|
|
further than dancing naked round a fire and screwing goats."</p>
|
|
<p>"You think they're killing folk?"</p>
|
|
<p>"I think," Jack said, looking Ralph straight in the eye. "I
|
|
think they're sacrificing babies."</p>
|
|
<p>Ralph Slater was in the act of swallowing a mouthful of tea. He
|
|
choked as it went down and sprayed himself as he spluttered to get
|
|
his breath. His eyes were watering and he snatched a tissue from
|
|
his pocket and dabbed at them. Finally he turned back to Jack.</p>
|
|
<p>"Are you kidding?"</p>
|
|
<p>"No. I wish I was."</p>
|
|
<p>"Cowie is going to love you. Are you going to tell him?"</p>
|
|
<p>"Not yet. Lets see what we can drag in. I can't keep him off my
|
|
back for much longer."</p>
|
|
<p>Later that night John McColl came back from Edward Tomlin's
|
|
house with something Margaret Tomlin had found in her husband's
|
|
jacket. It was a tarot card crumpled and lined, but there was no
|
|
mistaking the pattern on the back. It was identical to the others
|
|
that had turned up. On the face, it bore the picture of a heart
|
|
impaled by three swords.</p>
|
|
<p>Edward Tomlin died in the early hours of the morning, when Jack
|
|
was heading for home, almost stupefied with fatigue. His body was
|
|
taken down to the mortuary where Robbie Cattanach would open him up
|
|
the following morning. Some months later, both Robbie and Dr
|
|
Collins would collaborate on a paper for the <em>Lancet</em> on the
|
|
remarkable physiological effects of paraquat poisoning.</p>
|
|
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